


united we stand, divided we fall

by baekhyun (baruna)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste is a ghost, M/M, and he haunts damen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:45:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6175349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baruna/pseuds/baekhyun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You must be a figment of my imagination.” Damen breathed out, in a controlled breath, cradling his head. “I should consult a healer about this. Maybe it is a head injury.” </p><p>Though he did not know of any head injury that could conjure up a precise image of Prince Auguste, manner and physicality exact to the detailed shade of his hair.</p><p>Auguste stared at him. “I left Laurent alone.” </p><p>Damen looked up, lifting his head from his hands. </p><p>“Laurent is alone in Arles.” Auguste repeated, sounding more and more horrified. There was a terrifying rawness to his tone, blossoming with panic. “He is alone with my Uncle.”</p><p> </p><p>Or, Auguste haunts Damen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	united we stand, divided we fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muroony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muroony/gifts).



> So, I filled my own prompt on the Kink Meme because no one was filling it and I got desperate. So, here's a drabble. It's still very incomplete-- if I had time I'd write the entire thing!! Title is from Aesop.

_Voices_

It was when Damen had returned to Ios, that the voice began to speak. Sometimes a murmur in his ear, or a layering of voices that echoed in the hallway. It was unnerving and eerie.

Damen remembered asking Nikandros, “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Nikandros said, turning around and casting a bemused look down the darkened halls. The sun was elegantly sloping downwards against the cliffs of the palace, casting burnt-orange shadows across the pillars. It would have been a very beautiful sight, if Damen did not hear someone speaking in layered Veretian tones in front of him.

“I must return to Arles.” The voice muttered urgently. It was transient and intangible, almost watery sounding. Then, it disappeared. The uncomfortable feeling of being watched did not subside, and Damen was struck with a sudden memory of his childhood nurse telling him the story of the cliff-maiden, who attached herself to unsuspecting warriors and lured them over the cliffs into the sea, drowning them. It had frightened him dreadfully, as a child.

“Someone is speaking in Veretian.” Damen said slowly, filling with unease. Turning a full circle, he observed no one in the hallway but themselves. A dark frown settled on his face. He was certain that someone had been…

Nikandros chuckled. “Your thirst for battle is too strong, my friend. The Veretians have been defeated by us.”

“Indeed.” Damen said, casting another look around and sighing. “Perhaps it is nothing.”

“It _is_ nothing.” Nikandros confirmed, clapping him on the back. “Now let us go and celebrate our greatest conquest yet— your victory over our enemy Prince, Auguste.”

 

_Epiphany_

Damen was very, very glad that he was in his rooms and had not called the guards. They would have thought their Crown Prince was ill and feverish, because Prince Auguste of Vere was most certainly dead and could not be alive.

“You murdered me.” Auguste said blankly. “I am dead, and I am in Akielos.”

“You must be a figment of my imagination.” Damen breathed out in a controlled breath, cradling his head. “I should consult a healer about this. Maybe it is a head injury.”

Though he did not know of any head injury that could conjure up a precise image of Prince Auguste, manner and physicality exact to the detailed shade of his hair.

Auguste stared at him. “I left Laurent alone.”

Damen looked up, lifting his head from his hands.

“Laurent is alone in Arles.” Auguste repeated, sounding more and more horrified. There was a terrifying rawness to his tone, blossoming with panic. “He is alone with my Uncle.”

Damen’s mouth twisted. “Cease your rambling, ghost.”

“You do not understand,” Auguste said, voice cold and flinty, “Our father, Aleron, has been killed. Our mother, Queen Hennike, died of illness when Laurent was merely a child. Now I am gone, which means Laurent is _alone_.” The last bit came out desperate.

“He must have other relatives.” Damen replied, tone equally hard— he did not know why he was indulging the apparition, which was certainly not real. Still, he pushed on relentlessly, “Heavy losses are not uncommon for the losing side in honorable battle.”

Auguste’s eyes seemed to transform into drills.

_“There is nothing honorable about leaving my brother to my Uncle.”_

 

_Jokaste_

“She is good-looking,” Auguste noted, about Jokaste. “But she seems devious.”

Damen grinned. “But that is the best part.”

Auguste always gave them a modicum of privacy when they tussled in bed— either he found it repulsive, as was with Veretian culture, or he was being polite. Either way, it was a far cry from the beginning of Auguste’s haunting presence, when he would make shocked remarks about Damen’s slaves as they coupled, standing right beside the bed. Damen found it hard to find pleasure during such instances.

Apparently, it was normal to be openly vulgar in Vere.

“Kastor seems to be in a poor mood.” Auguste said from across the table, perching wispily on top of Straton’s seat. His visage was blearily handsome, and Damen still marveled at how no one could see Auguste but himself.

They were amidst a monthly trade meeting, which Damen had always found dreadfully boring. He glanced at Auguste, and then looked away quickly.

“I think I saw him speaking to Jokaste the other day.” Auguste mused, “How very strange.”

It _was_ strange. Too bad Damen could not reply outright.

“It’s probably nothing. Anyhow, you and Jokaste are a good match.” Auguste continued. “When you become King, and she Queen, I look forward to the innovative ways you two will assist Laurent.”

Damen struggled to keep the smile off his face. He wanted to look up at Auguste and agree. To say _, I also look forward to the day I can meet your brother. To assist him in the way I was unable to assist you._ For they were friends now, the Crown Prince of Akielos and Vere; yet one was dead while the other had slain him.

Straton was squinting at him now, and Damen realized he must have been too obviously distracted.

“Your father looks unwell.” Auguste observed again, and Damen turned his eyes studiously, like a good son, to the front of the table.

 

_Capture_

“Damen,” Auguste whispered suddenly in his ear, “Laurent knows.”

Damen kept his features schooled, and Auguste continued to speak.

“He knows that you are Damianos. He's enraged. Horrified.”

Damen kept his eyes on Laurent, who had recovered from his previous paleness. He could see the resemblance. But where Auguste was more broad-shouldered and firm, Laurent had a slimmer, but still solid, cut. His eyelashes were similarly thick and long, and his face was more angular than his Auguste's. Laurent had a deadly, androgynous quality to his features. It was the type of face that kingdom’s warred over.

Laurent voiced coldly, “I’m not desperate enough that I need to soil myself with filth.” Auguste cut back in a jerky motion.

Damen watched as Auguste reached out a ghostly hand to touch— but withdrew, unsure, as if the image of his brother made him blearily confused.

“Laurent—” Auguste said, helpless, “You— I have failed you—”

“Break him on the cross.” Laurent said, about Damen, and Auguste made a choked noise at the back of his throat. His expression was struck still with shock.

“Damianos,” Auguste managed, unable to turn away from Laurent, “I’m so, so sorry. Laurent was not like this before. It must have been our Uncle. He was—”

Damen knew. He was aware that there was something inherently wrong, something evil within the Regent. That he had done things. Even Auguste knew it; Auguste who was trusting and of the same vein as Damen, who loved his family and fought for his country without treachery. Damen did not want to think too much of it. It was almost out of his comprehension.

So when Laurent took off the gag and asked for his name, Damen looked at Auguste.

“He hates you for killing me.” Auguste said, stunned. “I do not know why I am surprised. I should have known this. I was his sole protector from… everything here.”

And Damen had taken that away from the younger brother. Laurent’s eyes were casually lidded, his body carefully controlled and blue outfit laced with complicated strings.

So Damen articulated, carefully: “My name is Damen, and I am not your enemy.”

 

_Identity_

“I know who you are.” Laurent said. His face was devoid of anything.

Auguste was standing there, behind him. Damen did not look at his face.

“He’s angry.” Auguste said from behind, like a revelation. “It’s my fault. I should have—” _Not_ _died_.

Damen ignored Auguste, but he heard the implication. Everything hurt.

“I know you know who I am.” Damen said slowly, and took a step towards Laurent. No more than that. He was careful to use the remaining distance as an offering.

“Did you enjoy taking pleasure in my body?” Laurent’s eyes were cold, his words slicing. “With the knowledge that your deceit was no deceit at all? I knew who you were all along, Prince-killer.”

Damen recoiled. He struggled to regain his conversational footing, but he could see that Laurent’s rage was manifesting in a verbal battle of massive proportions.

“What happened between us— that was honest. There was no deceit there—”

“No deceit?” Laurent asked, “My dead brother whom you cut down like a lamb for slaughter lies between us. That is the deceit.”

Auguste was standing beside Laurent now, a ghostly specter drifting brokenly beside them. Damen did not know where to look. The lamb was looking more like a lion, and Damen ludicrously and abruptly remembered the triumphant, horrific feeling of murdering Auguste so many years ago. The feeling of blood on his sword, the way steel sliced into flesh easily, like cutting into pudding.

“You will fix this.” Auguste enunciated too calmly, and this was one of the times where Damen wished that Auguste was not present. Auguste was a good comrade, but the extra layering of a protective, stunned brother constantly on the lookout during their journey like an injured hawk was stressful and nerve-wracking to contend with.

With the simultaneous pressure of both brothers on him, Damen floundered for a reply, aware of Laurent’s piercing, insistent gaze.

Damen bit out desperately, “Laurent, I love you.”

But it only seemed to horrify Laurent further, who immediately paled, then swayed unstably.

“Get out.” Laurent said lowly, a moment after regaining himself. “ _Get_ _out_ _now_.”

Damen did. And next to him, Auguste’s voice drifted.

“Well, that fixed nothing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Where I wrote the original prompt: https://captive-prince-kink-meme.dreamwidth.org/783.html?thread=34319#cmt34319


End file.
